


brighten your night

by withagun



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Caring, Comfort, Comfort Sex, F/M, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3975721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withagun/pseuds/withagun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha comes home after a mission. Clint knows just how to care for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	brighten your night

     The air pressure around Clint changes and he comes instantly awake, eyes searching for the intruder. A faint breath of perfume makes him swing out of the bed and pad silently to the kitchen, where he sees Natasha setting the kettle to boil. She turns to face him and he sees the marks of her mission in the blankness of her eyes. Cathy, her cover, has evidently not been entirely shed yet.  
     He moves to stand behind her and begins to gently rub her shoulders as the kettle whistles. Natasha pours the water into the cocoa mixture she was working on and begins to walk to the bedroom, unzipping her jacket as she does so.  
Discarding it carelessly on the floor, she kicks off her shoes and unbuttons her blouse, dropping each item as she removes it. Skirt is next, then hose. By the time she reaches the bedroom, she’s undoing the clasp of her bra and letting it fall. As she reaches the bed, all that remain are panties, which she slides down before collapsing on the bed, face planted in her pillow.

     Clint, who’s been following her with the discarded garments and drinks, drops the clothing into the laundry basket, sets the pot and mugs on the nightstand, and opens the drawer with the massage oil, which warms to his touch. He settles across her thighs and pours the oil through his fingers and onto her back.  
Fifteen minutes later, Natasha is sated and unmoving, and Clint moves his hands lower, slipping a callused archer’s finger between the lips of her labia, then inward. It doesn’t take much for her to come, gasping into the pillow.

     They sit on the bed, sipping their cocoa, and Clint lays an arm around Natasha’s shoulders. The mission, the mark, the cover, are all gone from her eyes, and she laughs at his retelling of some antics between DUM-E, Tony, and Bruce earlier that day.

     She’ll repay him for her comfort this evening early tomorrow, with her deft fingers and wicked tongue; five years of marriage have given them both intimate understandings of likes and dislikes, of kinks and turnoffs, of the best ways to give pleasure to the other. Natasha is Clint’s and Clint is Natasha’s, and where the one leaves off, the other picks up.  
They’re not in love, they are love, and life is good.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was partially inspired by the way my husband takes care of me when I'm sick.


End file.
